Woodland farewell
She wanted no fuss. No ceremony, no gathering of people wearing their ill-fitting, moth balled best. No one there out of duty and the hope of a cup of tea with cake afterwards. Just her family- meagre at that- and me. It was the farewell we had talked about for several years on my trips to see her. It had been a game of sorts initially, both of us making light of the day that was approaching as if on the incoming tide that twice a day covered the salt marsh near her home. An ebbing away from life that little bit more each time I saw her. Then as her illness progressed and the certainty of her going felt more real to us both, the laughter gave way to a silence in which her thoughts and mine met and danced together in the sunlit room overlooking her garden towards her “ blue remembered hills” in the north. She loved her garden, a rebellion of wildflowers and ivy cloaked trees. A small patch of woodland dropped into the pristine neighbourhood which c...